Pissmogging True Stories: ‘My Dad Installed A Urinal In Our House’

By O.A. CARRY FOR: 65,000〡PUBLISHED: April 10th, 2026

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Jake, 18, had school in the morning, but he couldn’t fall asleep. It was 11:30 p.m. on a Sunday, and the sounds of mechanical whirring and buzzing were keeping him up, coming from the other side of his bedroom wall. They were louder than his own dreams, which, to be fair, weren’t exactly groundbreaking or transgressive.

“I had a dream that I was a bird, but I was just mowing my lawn the whole time,” he said, still groggy from the wake up. “I think my brain is folding inward.”

Jake’s dad, Steph, 48, was on the other side of the wall, revving a buzzsaw and cutting into the two-story home’s upstairs bathroom. A urinal lay sideways on the tiled floor next to his feet, accumulating sawdust from the dry wall. He was installing the urinal in his family’s Massachusetts home right next to the toilet, and he was rushing because his bladder was full.

“I’ve been super excited about this,” Steph said between cuts to the wall. He took a break to pee in the toilet. We hocked a loogie mid-stream. “I just spit through my pee stream,” he said, flushing it. “Feeling extra powerful today.”

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Steph joined us in Jake’s room. “When I was his age,” he said, tousling the boy’s hair—which (oddly) left a big clump of orange in his hand; he shook it off lightly, but some small hairs remained in the creases of his palms—“When I was his age, I always wanted a urinal in my house. They’re so cool!”

Steph explained that a urinal is one of the most focused engineering feats. The design, “over millions of years,” he said, has been innovated with one goal in mind: reduced back-splash. Steph waxed poetic on the curves of a urinal overpowering—in his personal interpretation of beauty—the curves of a woman.

Sitting beside his father as he rambled about women, urinals, and a brief interlude compiling the “high IQ moments of [his] life,” Jake seemed sullen and introspective.

In private, Jake admitted that he did not like the idea of a urinal in his home. “He’s just installing it so he can pissmog me,” Jake said, bashfully pivoting his big toe on the ground.

“Pissmogging” is a phenomenon well-known among men who frequent public restrooms, where small fleets of urinals line the walls. So-called “privacy panels” often divide the urinals, but what can’t be seen can be heard. The mere sound of a strong stream smacking a urinal cake is enough to put the visual of the apparatus responsible in the minds of some men. Thus, the weaker man—although they might have stronger ears and a more powerful imagination—feels inferior. To be “pissmogged” is to be out pissed.

“He knows I get pee shy! He thinks it’s hilarious. And he’s installing the thing right on the other side of my headboard. Every time he uses it, I’m gonna hear it. And by it, I mean my dad’s penis.”

Our 65,000 reporter sat at the foot of Jake’s bed, listening to the incessant drilling keeping the teenager awake. “You hear that?” Jake said. “His piss stream is louder than that. I swear.”

A week earlier, Steph had eyed the urinal on Facebook Marketplace. It was about an hour drive deeper into western Massachusetts. Luckily, Steph was a professional driver.

“Intermittent fasting and driving an Uber … The American dream,” he said from the driver’s seat, going west. His chapped lips—illuminated by the sun through the windshield—sang Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” beneath aviator shades too high up on his long nose.

Shelly, 35, was waiting in her garage when Steph pulled into the driveway. She stood with her arms crossed, still wearing her pajamas and a cardigan to stay warm, tapping her foot so much that her house slipper almost slid off.

“Huh,” she said when Steph exited the vehicle. “I thought you’d be taller.”

“I am taller,” Steph said, “than I used to be.”

Shelly picked up the urinal with one hand and dropped the thing in Steph’s palm like a pair of keys. “Here,” she said. “Take it away. I could never figure out how to use it anyway.”

“What a steal!” Steph said as he pulled out of the cul-de-sac. “Usually, the Ultra Sunsation Deluxe Oversized ones go for way more. My 12 plumber friends are gonna be so jealous.”

When Steph merged onto the highway, his car stalled. “This damn thing,” he muttered before the problem fixed itself. Then he cruised effortlessly into the line of cars. Steph smiled. “They said I couldn’t make a Prius a stick-shift. My 12 plumber friends don’t know shit about cars.”

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Back at home, Jake was peering out of his window when his dad arrived. He watched the old man lift the urinal out of the trunk.

“This is so fucked,” he said into the window screen. He stood up and took a look in the mirror, twisting to see all angles of his wide-leg sweatpants. Across the crotch, graphic, all-caps text read, “ENVY IS GOOD. KILL YOUR ENEMIES.”

“These go so hard. Depop is God’s creation,” he said.

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A week later, on the day of that noisy Sunday night install, Jake eventually fell asleep. He awoke at 7 a.m. to brush his teeth before school. When he laid eyes upon the “monstrosity,” he averted his eyes, then gulped, and decided he should examine it closer.

Jake ran his fingers across the top of it. He felt the cold of its metal flusher. It sent a shiver down his spine, as he bent down and examined the bottom of it. He ran his fingers across the bottom, too, and accidentally bumped his elbow into the boom mic held too close by our 65,000 sound technician, who was trying to make an exclusive 65,000 ASMR out of the experience.

“You know,” Jake said, “I’ve never looked at one of these close enough. This is probably the longest time I’ve ever spent with a urinal. I’m always rushing away from these things, trying to encounter them for as little as possible.”

Jake arrived at school late that day. He had spent too much time in the bathroom.

When he took a potty break during third period, he realized he was alone in the boys’ room after washing his hands. He decided to get them dirty again by touching one of the urinals.

“You know, for the longest time, I’ve just been peeing in the garbage disposal, because pee is basically just liquid garbage,” Jake mused as the door swung open.

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It was the hall monitor Fritz, 14, who was reportedly corrupt, according to an op-ed from the Brambleville Mirror, the high school’s student newspaper, which found that Fritz used his authority to steal vapes from bathroom ne’er-do-wells skipping class in the stalls.

65,000 got a look at Fritz’s cache of Geek Bars, Elf Bars, and Juuls that he rummaged through happily. “All of these have one final hit in them,” he said in his prepubescent twang. “I don’t like killing things, not even birds.”

Fortunately, Fritz wanted nothing to do with Jake in the bathroom. The wooden plank hall pass attached to Jake’s waistband carabiner had no inkling of vape juice on its exterior. Fritz and his K-9 dog Augustus, 4, let him be.

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When Jake got back home, his dad’s urinal was installed, but it still hadn’t been used yet. Steph had been busy at his second job all day, which involved finding pictures of motorcycles for CAPTCHA. “They’re mostly in the Philippines,” he had said.

Alone again with the spotless urinal, Jake decided to touch the inner bowl this time. He grabbed a Dixie cup from the medicine cabinet, filled it with water, and trickled it down its entire height. He did that multiple times, and then, when he had to go, he pulled up a footstool, stood on it, and aimed directly at the urinal’s top left corner, almost touching the porcelain with himself. Like water, it poured down the length for a sustained minute. It sounded like a zen garden.

“I think I just went number 3,” Jake said. “I think that’s what that was.”

A few hours later, Steph returned home. “Top 2,000 cat memes of all time,” he said to himself, walking up to the front door. “That’s gotta be the moneymaker.”

As he dropped off his work bag in the kitchen, he shouted Jake’s name and informed him, in his bravado dad tone, that it was “pee-pee time.”

From the moment he first peed in it to the moment his dad got home, Jake had been chugging copious amounts of water. He had been holding it all in, too, waiting for the moment to strike.

Jake hopped in front of his dad as they both entered the bathroom.

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“Let me use it!” Jake said. “You take the toilet.”

“Fine, that’s what I got it for,” Steph said with a smile, as if the activity were akin to a game of catch.

Jake began his newfound ritual, pulling up the footstool, stepping Croc-first up onto it, and then, placing his crotch as close as possible to the top left corner.

Steph was too busy taking out his own body part to notice what was happening. It was too late to turn back, though. He was about to be pissmogged by the most serene number 3 ever taken.

The stream flowed like waterflowers out of the orifice. The pure energy radiating from the cake, sopping up the poem, made Steph’s knees buckle. The sound of his ACL tearing was washed over by the flowing creek of victory.

“I’ve been feeling so insecure and embarrassed lately,” Jake said as he zipped up his pants, “Except when I see a beautiful woman. Then I get a flash of confidence, like I’m the hottest guy in the world.”